Wild Angels
by quiet-heart
Summary: Takes place after Aiden's death. Primarily Mac's POV.


A/N: Inspired by Martina McBride's song, "Wild Angels."

It had been a week since Aiden's funeral and nearly two weeks since they had discovered her remains in a burnt-out car. They had buried her on a beautiful, warm day in a closed casket. Mac figured it was better that way. Better to remember Aiden as she had lived, not as she had died.

He remembered so many things about her. He remembered her laughter, the way it could make anyone smile, even him. How she had not been afraid to stand her ground against anyone if she felt she was right. Most of all, he remembered her determination, whether it was doing the right thing, nailing the perp or finding that one tiny bit of evidence that could make or break the case.

Mac leaned his head against the cool glass of his office window, seeing the lights of New York without really seeing them, as he did most nights. Even his office held memories of Aiden, especially the one of the day he had fired her. He hadn't wanted to do it, had hated the task with an absolute passion, but Aiden had understood, thank God. He only wished he could have said the things that needed being said, that should have been said. But it was too late.

Or was it?

There was a church about three blocks away from the lab. He knew of it because, especially after his wife's death, he had gone there often to find some measure of peace. Mac was in his overcoat and heading towards the church before he realized he had made such a decision. In less than fifteen minutes he was there.

The church was quiet at this time of night, almost no one there. Mac found a spot in one of the pews and sat down. He didn't say anything; he never did when he was there. He had learned a long time ago that it was in these moments of complete silence that only then could the whispers be heard.

"Mac."

"Aiden." She sat next to him, looking as pretty as ever. "I've missed you. We all have."

"I know, but I haven't gone far."

"We caught Pratt, thanks to the clue you left behind."

"That really took the bite out of him, huh?"

Mac smiled wryly. "Yes, it did." Aiden grinned. Then he sobered. "Aiden, I never told you how proud I was of you. That I valued you both as a good friend and as a CSI. That I was sorry about firing you, but it had to be done."

"It's okay, Mac. I understood. You did the right thing. All that matters is that you kept your promise to me. Pratt is behind bars where he belongs. He'll never get another chance to hurt another woman again and that's all that matters." Mac nodded. "As for the rest of it, I've always known, even though you never said anything. I've learned that there are some things that don't require words. Friendship is one of them." Mac smiled softly. "There's only one thing I ask of you guys."

"Name it."

"Look out for each other. There's some tough times ahead, but if you look out for each other, you'll make it through."

"What about you?"

"Me?" Aiden chuckled softly. "Mac, there was a reason I always liked Martina McBride's song 'Wild Angels', 'cause it's true. I got wings now, and even though it may not seem like it, I'm watching over all of you."

It was nearly midnight when Mac finally left the church. As he headed back to the lab to his vehicle, a sound caught his attention. He wasn't sure what it was at first, but then, as he continued to listen, he knew; it was the sound of beating wings. He looked up in time to spot something floating gently down towards him. Catching the object, he studied it.

It was a large feather, pure white and unbelievably soft, unlike anything he'd ever seen before. No local bird had feathers like this, he knew. But if it wasn't a bird, then what? A possibility came to mind, an incredibly impossible one. But, what if?

"Wild angels," he whispered to himself, gently stroking the feather, still not quite able to believe it. Then he smiled. "Thanks, Aiden."

I n the distance, he could hear music playing, a tune which he recognized.

"Wild angels, wild angels,

Watching over you and me.

Wild angels, wild angels.

Baby, what else could it be?"

Mac smiled as he tucked the feather safely inside his coat. "Wild angels, indeed."


End file.
